


Road To California

by HeyitsRochelle, RyanJames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, CP!Charlie, Disabled Character, FTM!Dean, Mary Lives, No Hunting, Student teacher Cas, Trans Character, homophobia and transphobia, older charlie, will post warning at the start of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 17:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12113520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyitsRochelle/pseuds/HeyitsRochelle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyanJames/pseuds/RyanJames
Summary: Lawrence never really felt like home to Dean





	Road To California

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the always wonderful [Rochelle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyitsRochelle/works)  
> for pushing me to post this.

Dean was running late to pick up his brother from school. Recently, it seemed he was late more often than not. He had had the chance to get a few more hours at the grocery store and some extra cash seemed more important than class. He was weeks behind in his schoolwork anyway, what difference did one day really make? That sleek black 1967 Chevy Impala sped down Maple Street, hitting seventy-one in a twenty-five. Dean slowed down just enough to whip into the schoolyard. The clock on dash read 3:16, he was over an hour late. He hoped Sam wouldn't be too upset. The middle school and high school were on the same property, the football field separated the two buildings. The buses were long gone, the parking lot empty. The 13-year-old looked small, sitting the front steps with his head down. Dean's hand-me-down red hoodie hung loose off the boy's shoulder, about two sizes too big. His face wasn't visible, hidden behind his unruly bangs. Sam could recognize the rev of that car anywhere. He looked up at Dean through brunette shag and stood, walking slowly, only to trip over his untied shoelace.  
"Damnit Sammy." Dean leaned across the bench seat to open the passenger side door, "C'mon kiddo." 

"You're late." He huffed then slammed car door and buckled up. The kid stared out the window.

"Whoa. Easy on my Baby. I know, I'm sorry." Sam still didn't acknowledge him. "Sammy." Dean sighed. He pressed the gas and headed out of the parking lot at a safe legal speed. Hauling ass was fun but he wouldn't jeopardize his brother's wellbeing. "Would a large extra cheese pizza with spicy fries make up for it?" 

Silence. 

"Jesus Christ, I tried Sammy! I'm sorry." He bit the tip of his tongue, raising his voice wouldn't help.

"Just shut up Dean! I'm not hungry! Not everything's all about you!" His voice cracked, whether from anger or puberty, it was hard to tell. Dean braked hard at a stop sign, gaping at his baby brother's discolored face. His bottom lip slit wide open, swollen and dried blood was crusted around his nostril, as if he hadn't tried to clean himself up. Embarrassment shone in his eye. Dean grabbed the boy’s chin and tilted his head back, studying his wounds.

"Who did this?" Sam pulled away, turning back the window. Dean hadn't noticed the muddy black pickup truck, which had pulled up behind them until the driver laid on the horn. Through the back window, he could see the driver was shirtless; he had a cigarette in one hand and flipped Dean the bird with the other. He shifted into park, pulled the key from the ignition and jumped out the driver's seat, headed for the trunk. The icepack in the bottom of his red and white lunch cooler wouldn't be frozen anymore but maybe still a bit chilled. The truck sped around the Impala, missing Dean by mere inches.

"Fuck you asshole!" 

"Dyke!" The color drained from Dean's face, as he nearly dropped his keys. He couldn't hear Sam calling to him, over the thunderous roaring in his ears. He leaned back against the car and took a deep breath. 

Sammy. Ice. 

Dean steadied himself and continued to the trunk. 

The icepack was half melted but still cold. He handed it to Sam when he got back in and started the car again. The boy let out a whimper, as he pressed it to his lip.

"Are 'ou 'kay?" His words were muffled but Dean understood. The driver's side window was cracked and the jackass was loud, the kid had heard everything.

"Course I’m okay." He plastered a smile across his face for his brother's sake. "How about a big chocolate milk shake, instead of pizza?" Sam shook his head and pulled the ice away to speak. 

"I don't wanna go anywhere Dean. I don't wanna go home either." Sam didn’t have to explain his reasoning. If he walked into that house with a busted up face, his father would only lecture him on his need to man up. It was one of John favorite topics. No son of his would be a wimp. He never spoke like this to Dean. He believed that many of these angry lectures directed at Sam, were due to their father’s lack of control over Dean. He felt guilty and wondered what kind of life Sam would have, after he was out of the house. Although Dean thought it would be best if Sam learned how to defend himself, he never told the boy he wasn’t tough enough. He knew that it was bullshit.

Sam was a great kid. Optimistic and very intelligent. He could easily recite facts from library books that were all too often overdue. He never judged; always open to learn about others’ experiences. He had been the driving force behind his school’s first gay-straight alliance, although making sure the fliers stated that all identities were welcome. He struggled to make friends, but once someone entered his circle, he was loyal for life. He truly believed that people for the most part were kind and those who treated him badly had just been hurt by someone else. Most of the time, he was quiet but spoke his mind when he felt it was important. He was most talkative around his big brother. The majority of his wardrobe was hand-me-downs from Dean, usually the shirts were too baggy and the pants too long, making the boy appear smaller than reality. Dean always bought his clothes too big, easier for him to hide in. At eleven Sam had a serious growth spurt, shooting up four inches over the summer. Now he was only about a head shorter than Dean; all arms and legs, with no coordination. He kept his hair shaggy and in his face, which John hated. Dean attributed some of Sam’s lack of grace to his inability to see where he was going. 

"Bet Uncle Bobby has some ice cream." Sam almost smiled. He nodded and leaned his head back, ice in place and closed his eyes. 

Dean always kept a duffle bag with few days worth of clothes for himself and Sam in the trunk.

 

Bobby Singer pulled two boxes of mac n’ cheese out of the cabinet, when he noticed the impala coming up the driveway. Dean could eat like a horse and Sam was quickly catching up to his brother’s appetite. The boys seemed to be arguing as Dean parked behind Bobby’s truck. He greeted them at the door, barefoot with a half empty beer bottle in his hand. His usual trucker hat perched on his head. He scratched at his gray and red beard.

“Boys. Wasn’t expectin’ a visit.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. Bobby was used to their random drop-ins. Sam was half hiding behind his brother with his head bowed, long bangs curtaining his face. “What’s with the kid?”

“Bad day. Mind some company for the night?” 

“C’mon in. Ain’t standing in the door all day.” He moved back into the house, Dean followed with Sam shuffling behind him and closing the door. By the time, the older Winchester kicked his boots off, his brother has already wandered into the kitchen.

“You got any Tylenol?”

“You tell John you’re not coming home tonight?”

“Mom will know.” Bobby gave him a hard look.

“Call her. What happened to Sam’s face?”

“Some middle school asshole. I need to teach Sammy how to throw a punch.”

“Yeah, I got Tylenol.”

“And ice cream?”

After two milkshakes, an entire box of mac n’ cheese and a couple episodes of Friends, Sam went to bed early without much of a goodnight, thanking Bobby he passed. 

The kitchen was dark, Bobby wasn’t one to turn on lights but the moon shining through the window was enough for the men, at the table, to see each other. After finishing his beer earlier, Bobby had switched to Coke. They sat without speaking, each sipping from the old style glass bottle. Dean always thought soda tasted better that way. Bobby broke the silence as Dean started scratching at the label the best he could with nail bitten fingers.

“How you doin’ son?” 

“Okay, just going one day at a time.”

Bobby knew Dean, better than anyone. It had been Bobby who first noticed how sad Dean seemed as a child. It was Bobby who held him tight when puberty had hit early and he tearfully screamed himself hoarse, devastated by his body’s betrayal. Bobby who opened his home as a safe haven. Bobby who had taught Dean about cars and how to talk to girls. Bobby who took him to a child therapist, in search of answers. Bobby who had given him his first proper haircut. Bobby who had taught him how to shave long before it was necessary. Bobby supported him. Bobby knew Dean.  
Dean knew his surrogate uncle was really asking how things were at home. Was John treating him alright? His father was the last thing the boy felt like talking about. He simply shook his head. “Dean. You could always stay here.” So many times he had made the same offer but the boy’s answer never changed,

“Can’t leave Sammy.”

 

Mornings were the hardest part of the day for Dean. He hated the feel of his chest unbound but knew he had to give himself a break at some point. When he had first started binding, he had spent a dangerous amount of time with his chest constricted and quickly regretted it. Rib pain and trouble breathing become a daily issue. Layering two sports bras usually eased his anxiety a bit. Last Christmas Bobby had gotten him a proper binder.

Dean jumped into his morning routine. After brushing his teeth and a quick shower, he stood in front of the dirty bathroom mirror in his binder and jeans. He carefully trimmed his beard with the scissors from Bobby’s shaving kit. Alright, it wasn’t exactly a beard but his pre-hormone chin hair was visible, to himself and others, he was really quite proud of it. He threw on a tight undershirt and tucked it into his jeans, then smoothed his hand down his chest. It was a flat as he could safely get. He finally put on a loose AC/DC shirt, applied deodorant and headed back into the bedroom. He found his socks on the floor by his bed and then slipped his feet into his work boots.

He pounded on the door across the hallway.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

He followed the sound of boots on hardwood into the kitchen. Bobby was standing over the stove, eggs on one burner and bacon on the other. 

“You’re gonna burn it.”

“Thought you liked it burnt.”

“Almost burnt.”

“You want to cook?” Bobby turned toward him, offering the spatula.

“No, thanks.”

“Good, so shut up. Coffee’s on the table.”

Dean put five tablespoons of sugar into the mug and poured the coffee after. Sam wandered in as Bobby was putting plates on the table. His hair was dripping wet, soaking the back of the Led Zeppelin tee he inherited from Dean.

“What? Couldn’t find a fucking towel Sammy?”

“Hey. Watch your mouth boy.”

 

Dean skipped school that day. He felt a little guilty about leaving Bobby with the impression that he was going to class, but ignored it. He hadn’t lied to the man, not directly. After dropping his brother off, he headed out with no real destination in mind. He couldn’t go far. The impala only had a quarter tank of gas and pay day was still two days away. He didn’t want much, just a quiet place to think. He pulled into the parking lot of the public library, as soon as he saw the sign. Unlike Sam, Dean could count the times that he had been inside on one hand. Even at that, it was usually to get the kid, who often became too engrossed in whatever he was reading, he would forget to meet Dean outside for a ride home. 

The back entrance came into a hallway at the end of which was another door the lead into the kids’ room. Children’s hand prints, drawings and Dr Seuss characters covered the walls. To the right, were the bathrooms. Like any other place he had ever been, they were divided by gender. Dean was thankful that he had gone before leaving the house. To the left, were stairs going up. He tried to slow his walking, the thud of his boots with each footfall sounded far too loud. He did his best not to make any noise as he took the stairs to the second floor. The walls there were not decorated nearly as colorfully. Just simple posters of writers like Shakespeare and many more that he did not recognize. The librarian at the front desk did not look up when he entered; too absorbed in the papers she was sorting through. Soft blonde curls fell into her face as she worked. Her eyes scanned the text quickly, lips pursed in concentration. She looked to be only a couple years older than him. She was cute, he noticed, probably had a beautiful smile. He would have liked to see it. Maybe if he was a more confident person, he would have told her so.

Dean headed into the huge backroom. A long oak table sat center in the sea of bookshelves. There were already to people occupying it, at opposite ends. Nearest to the door was an elderly man. He seemed to have been reading the newspaper lay out before him, before hit with a hacking wet coughing fit. Dean covered his nose and mouth with the collar of his flannel, walking quickly passed the man. He sat as far away as he could, directly across from a young red-headed girl. She didn’t look up as he took a seat; he took a moment to study her. He could faintly make out the sounds of upbeat pop music playing from her headphones. She wore a purple hoodie over a tee shirt, baring a crest that he knew he’d seen before but wasn’t sure where. Each corner of it had an animal; a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle. He scanned the phase in Latin underneath it. He made a mental note to ask Sammy later. She looked up before he had time to look away. Not wanting to be caught staring, he moved his gaze quickly back to the doorway he came through. The blonde caught his eye again, still sorting through papers. She bit her lip and Dean fought to not make a sound.

“She’s too old for you dude.” He looked back at the redhead, she had hung her headphones around her neck.

“You don’t know that.” He snipped.

“Yeah, okay. What are you like, fifteen?” She said it softly, with a sweet smile. But one thing that always got to him was to be reminded of how young he looked. 

“Almost eighteen.” He snapped back. Okay, it wasn’t really true. He was much closer to seventeen than eighteen, but that really wasn’t the point. 

“Jeez, sorry.” She rolled her eyes and went back to writing in her notebook. He opened his mouth to apologize and quickly shut it again.

He stared down at his hands, unsure of what to do with himself. He wasn’t much of a reader and he hadn’t brought anything to write or draw on. “You don’t come here often, do you?”

Dean scoffed, “That obvious?”

“Extremely.” She pulled an army green messenger bag onto the table and stuffing her notebook and multiple pens into it. “I’m Charlie, by the way.”

“Dean.” he answered, staring at the many buttons on her bag. There were a few rainbow ones, a big purple what that boldly stated FUCK GENDER ROLES, a green with white lettering that read CP Strong and a purple and pink patch that said Real Allies Don’t Out. 

“Well, Dean. I’m heading out for a cup of coffee. Would you like to join me?” She gave him a small smile. He hesitated for a quick moment.

“Sure. But I drive.”

“Good, I walked and I’m not ready to walk back yet.” Dean wanted to question this statement, but said nothing, not wanting to be rude. “There’s this great little café on the corner of Main and Dover.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been by there a few times, never tried it.”

“You won’t regret it. Oh, I almost forgot!” Charlie pulled a book from her bag and headed for toward the front desk. Her walk was noticeably lopsided. Her right foot perched up on her toes, heel never touching the floor. Her right blue and white Reebok was obviously a size larger than the left. She dropped the book into the return slot and Dean met her at the top of the stairs. He stepped aside to let her by and she paused, “Do you mind going down first? Makes me nervous when someone’s behind me.”

“Oh, sure.” He made it to the bottom before looking back up, she was at the halfway point with a death grip on the right railing and her eyes glued to her feet. The railing stopped the third step from the bottom and Charlie teetered slightly, she looked down at Dean with flushed cheeks.

“This is a lot easier going up. Could I uh, hold onto your shoulder?” Dean nodded and took a step forward. “Thanks. Just get on the second step, just like you’re going down.” He turned, directly in front of her and waited. Her right hand grabbed on his shoulder and felt her other hand fist the material at the center of his back. He blushed, feeling how close her fingers were to the edge of his binder. 

“Go slow.” He took a deliberate step down and felt her follow, leaning harder on him. He waited for a response before taking the next step, “Alright.” With both boots on the linoleum floor, he held his back stiff while held on even tighter to take the last step. “Um, thanks.” He smiled at her.

“Don’t worry about it. Stupid railing should go all the way down. Accident just waiting to happen.” He defused her embarrassment quickly. She grinned back at him.  
“Their coffee is great but the dessert counter is really where they getcha. The pie is amazing.”

“Pie?!”

“Whoa. This is your car?” Charlie’s eye widened when he stopped in front of the Impala.

“Yeah, well was my dad’s technically. But me and my Uncle Bobby fixed her up. Dad drives a pick up now. 

“Nice. Must be a cool guy, letting you have it.” Dean stiffened.

He unlocked the car and she slide on the bench seat, closing the passenger door. He took a deep breath, before getting in.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to learn more about my experience as a transguy with Cerebral Palsy feel free to ask questions in in the comments or [come find me on Tumblr](https://www.illbeyourgentlemanstory.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
